


will you do me this favor (before you leave)

by buddhaghost



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, First Meetings, M/M, No Beta, Non-Graphic Violence, Pre-Slash, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, bonding in an apocalypse, once again they don't know each other's names till the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buddhaghost/pseuds/buddhaghost
Summary: Kankuro should probably say something comforting, because the boy is trembling all over and his breathing is coming fast and shallow and his eyes are still wide and vacant. His shirt is ripped, too, and Kankuro can see more bruising marks on his chest.“Are you going to kill me?” The boy asks, breaking the silence before Kankuro can work out something moderately pleasant to say. His voice sounds wrecked, like he’s been screaming.“I don’t plan on it,” Kankuro tells him, his own voice not much better. “Especially since I just saved your ass.”
Relationships: Inuzuka Kiba/Kankurou
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	will you do me this favor (before you leave)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! love these two. also this brings me back to my zombie-apocalypse phase, though there are no zombies in this.
> 
> absolutely did not read this over before posting. please point out any and all mistakes
> 
> warning for: threats of rape. let me know if you want more info before reading or if you think more warnings should be applied

It’s on day one hundred and sixteen that Kankuro wonders, though not for the first time, if things would’ve been better if all of humanity was killed off by the bombs.

That was the whole point of them, wasn’t it? Total antihalation. Nations battling for power, deciding instead that _if we can’t have it, no one can._ Instead, yes, millions died, but thousands remained and the ones who did aren’t exactly the best of the lot.

Kankuro himself included, of course. He’s under no delusions in this aspect. He’s killed his fair share of people. Stolen resources from others in order to ensure his own survival.

Admittedly, was earlier. When he still had hope, had confidence that he would be able to find Temari and Gaara. They’d been back home, in Arizona, when the end of days came, and Kankuro had been in rainy, miserable Washington, finishing up his second semester of his junior year. The thought of finding them, _alive_ no less, allowed him to push himself to the brink of his sanity. To do things that he normally would never have dreamed of doing.

Because in the end, when they reunite, it will all be worth it.

He doesn’t let himself think about what he’ll do if he can’t find them, even though every day, it’s harder to get himself moving, and every night, he finds himself wondering _why he hasn’t found them yet_.

Regardless, day after day, he pushes forwards. Avoids interacting with others, because he’s found that _never_ ends well these days, keeping out of sight, alone with his trusty backpack, his gun, and the faces of his siblings, growing more warped with each passing day.

Kankoru’s in the process of scouting out an abandoned gas station when he hears it.

He can’t help it – he _wanted_ to continue along the interstate, hugging the tree line as he follows it south, but he’s on his last pack of energy bars and he could really use some new batteries, since the solar-powered lamp he uses got cracked a few days ago.

So, against his better judgement, when he comes across a small gas station, he figures he might as well check it out. The windows are smashed, and it looks to have seen better days, but Kankuro’s gotten pretty good at finding use in things that others pick over.

He’s about twenty feet from the entrance when the sounds of struggle have him dropping to the ground behind a burnt-out car, pulling the worn handgun he’d taken off an ex-cop a few weeks back out of his bag.

_Fuck_. He knew he should’ve given this place a wide berth. Gas stations are homes for unseemly things, people waiting in the shadows to pick off those unlucky enough to get near.

It’s just another part of living after the bombs. Meat is hard to come by, and some people have adjusted their tastes to fit what’s available. Kankuro’s just glad he’s already accustomed to the vegetarian lifestyle, curtesy of Gaara.

Kankoru crouches low, peering through the dust-caked windows of the car, trying to get a sense of what’s going on so he can _get the fuck out of here_. His heart is pounding, but he focuses on keeping his breathing even, his hands steady. All he needs to do is back up, retrace his steps, and hope that whoever might be in there is too preoccupied to look out the window.

He can’t see anything too clearly, but he’s not stupid enough to think that just because he can’t see them, they can’t see him. It definitely sounds like multiple people, raised voices unintelligible, but certainly differing in tone; one is high, panicked, while the others are mocking, boasting, predatory.

The sound of them make the hair on the back of Kankuro’s neck stand up. He needs to get out of here, _now._ If they’re foolish enough to be making this much noise, it means they’re the type of people Kankuro wants to avoid.

Quickly, he spins, staying low to the ground as he heads back the way he came. But then there’s a yipping, like a dog, and Kankuro hasn’t heard that sound in _months_ , and it’s enough to stop him in his tracks.

He wishes he didn’t, because it gives him the chance to hear the first voice snarl, angry and frantic and probably terrified, “don’t fucking _touch him –“_ followed by the sound of what seems like a kicked puppy.

Fuck. It sounds like a boy, maybe Kankuro’s age, maybe younger. He sounds desperate, and angry, and so alone.

Kankuro should turn around. Keep walking. He has his own things to deal with, and breaking up whatever this is isn’t part of his plan.

The voice cries out again, and suddenly, all Kankuro can think about is Gaara, and how that could be him, or a kid like him. And how if Gaara was in this situation, Kankuro wouldn’t think twice before launching in to interrupt it. Would kill anyone who made him call out like that.

Of course, maybe the kid’s being attacked for a good reason. Kankuro has little to no information about this; maybe the kid is some psycho who’s murdered a bunch of people, and the other people are putting an end to it.

Kankuro hesitates another moment, long enough to hear, “ _no, get the fuck off me you sick fuck!”_

And it doesn’t sound like some hardened killer. It sounds like someone scared for their life.

Sighing, Kankuro closes his eyes for a moment. For Gaara, he will do this. Then, he takes a breath, and turns on his heel.

He closes the distance between the car he’d been crouched behind and the gas station quickly, the gun clenched tight in his hand. He’s handled guns a fair amount since he started his trek to Arizona, and though he doesn’t _love_ them because they’re loud and can be heard from miles away, they’re also one of the best forms of protection out here.

Glass and trash crunches underfoot, and Kankuro pauses, but there’s no indication that anyone’s heard him. They’re too preoccupied with whatever’s going on inside, the crowing voices growing louder and huskier as the sound of struggle grows fainter.

“Nowhere to run now, you little bitch,” someone says.

and

“Watch out for those teeth – almost bit my finger off earlier.”

and

“Can’t believe we’ve got the bitch _and_ his dog.”

and

“ _Man_ , I’m starving. Hurry it up, will you?”

Kankuro’s at the window. What he finds is this:

Four men. Big, rugged. Nobody has any business looking as portly as they do in an apocalypse, and Kankuro shudders, knowing the type of people they’ve become.

A dog, laying on its side, fithly and mangy and bleeding from a wound Kankuro can’t see clearly. It scrabbles at the ground, making little whimpering noises.

And finally, the boy. Kankuro almost misses him from where he’s pinned beneath the biggest of the group, arms wrenched painfully behind his back, held in place with a knee pressed savagely into the small of his back. He’s struggling and shouting but his words are muffled by the floor and his movements all but incapacitated by the weight on top of him.

Kankuro takes this all in in less than a second; the struggling boy, the wounded dog, the men who are all leering, laughing, high fiving each other. The men who are untucking their shirts, fiddling with their belts.

Kankuro’s moving before he even processes his intention to move, to attack, and he doesn’t hesitate, leaping through the shattered window while throwing his knife straight into the eye socket of the closest man.

That gets the attention of the other three, but Kankuro has the element of surprise, and they’ve all been sufficiently distracted. They fumble with their waistband, presumably to get at the gun they’ve tucked back there _which is one of the dumbest places to keep a gun, Kankuro’s learned_ , and he fires off a round into two more before they can properly react.

That leaves the last man, the one who’d been kneeling on the boy, and he’s faster than Kankuro’s expecting, lunging up with surprising agility and throwing himself at Kankuro, tackling him to the ground.

The man’s hands find their way around Kankuro’s neck, meaty and sweaty and they _squeeze_. Kankuro struggles to get his gun into a position where he can shoot it, but the man’s kneeling on his trigger arm, and it’s starting to go numb, as is everything else.

Kankuro scrabbles at the man’s grip with his free hand, digging his nails in, before switching tactics and going for his eyes, but the man leans back, sneering as he applies more pressure, and a wave of panic washes over Kankuro as he realizes _he really might die here, what a fucking joke_ when suddenly the hands are gone and the man is gone and Kankuro can _breathe_.

He greedily sucks in air, only to immediately choke on it, throat feeling like it’s been compressed to a straw. Even so, he quickly rolls onto his feet, grabbing again for his gun and straightening up, scanning for the man.

Instead, he comes face to face with a knife. _His_ knife, the one that had been lodged into the first man’s eye socket. It’s covered in gore and is vibrating slightly, and Kankuro’s vision clears enough to see that it’s being held by the boy.

He’s crouched down over the dog, pointing the knife at Kankuro with one arm, the other held tight to his body. His eyes are wide and are dancing around wildly, seeming to be looking at everything except Kankuro. There are three long scratches on his cheek, and they’re bleeding slightly, cutting red trails through the dirt staining his face.

The man who’d been choking Kankuro is slumped over, bleeding. From the looks of it, the boy had stabbed him multiple times in the back. Nice.

Kankuro should probably say something comforting, because the boy is trembling all over and his breathing is coming fast and shallow and his eyes are still wide and vacant. His shirt is ripped, too, and Kankuro can see more bruising marks on his chest.

“Are you going to kill me?” The boy asks, breaking the silence before Kankuro can work out something moderately pleasant to say. His voice sounds wrecked, like he’s been screaming.

“I don’t plan on it,” Kankuro tells him, his own voice not much better. “Especially since I just saved your ass.”

The boy stares at him dully, but at least he’s actually looking at him now.

It’s been so long since he’s talked to someone other than himself, and he’s never been particularly pleasant to begin with, so what he ends up saying next is, “Are you going to give me my knife back?”

The boy glances at the knife in his hands, as if surprised to see he’s still holding it, before his eyes fall back on Kankuro. Kankuro watches as he scans him up and down, before his eyes dart to the four fallen men. It seems that he finally comes back to himself, because the knife suddenly slips from his hands with a clatter and he falls to the ground soon after before frantically twisting to the dog lying beside him.

Kankuro watches as the boy pats the dog down, and then presses his face into its scruff, making the dog thump its tail half-heartedly. The boy’s fingers clench and unclench in the dog’s fur.

“… is it okay?” Kankuro asks, trying to remember how to have a conversation.

The boy lifts his head and glares weakly at Kankuro. “ _He’s_ going to be fine, so don’t get any ideas.”

Oh god, the kid thinks Kankuro wants to _eat his dog_. He holds up his hands. “I’m vegetarian.”

The boy stares at him. The dog’s tail thumps once, as if pleased by Kankuro’s words.

They fall silent again, and Kankuro busies himself with checking the men’s pockets for anything of worth, then starts scanning the store itself. He can feel the boy’s eyes on him, and his stomach churns with something – _anger, disgust, terror_ —about the men and what might’ve happened to the kid if he hadn’t intervened.

The boy is sitting on the ground with his dog, watching Kankuro from the fringes of his hair. He’s tense, unbelievably so, and the occasional shudder runs through him. But he watches Kankuro with sharp, calculating eyes.

“Why did you stop them?” He asks, voicing it like a challenge, but his voice wavers. Kankuro reads the underlying question of _what do you want with me_ , because these days, there are no simple acts of kindness, no doing something without expectation of getting something in return.

Kankuro doesn’t answer right away, forcefully slamming one of the – long dead – refrigerator doors shut, a lone electrolyte drink in his hands. He stuffs it into his bag with more aggression than necessary, before stalking around towards the register, seeing what might be left behind there.

He hates that this kid is tensed like he’s expecting Kankuro to lash out at him, that he’s hunched protectively over his dog, that he’s tracking Kankuro’s every move with wary eyes.

Kankuro stops his movements, meeting the boy’s gaze. He’s bony, all sharp angles which isn’t unusual these days, and his dark hair is thick and unruly. His cheeks are adorned with two strange red birthmarks, which Kankuro hadn’t noticed until now, and his fingers, which are long and thin, are curled protectively around his dog.

He can’t be any older than Kankuro. Probably the same age as Gaara, if he has to guess.

The thought of his brother sends a pang through his chest, and he turns away, focusing once again on his scavenging. “How were you careless enough to get caught in the first place?” He asks gruffly.

The boy inhales sharply, and Kankuro expects a retort. When he doesn’t get one, he glances back up to see that the boy’s curled in on himself even more, one hand gripping his dog’s scruff tight and the other curled into a tight fist.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he says finally, but his voice is weak. “I – Akamaru needed food. I had to check –” he cuts himself off, mouth closed firmly.

Akamaru? Must be the dog, unless the kid’s taken to referring to himself in the first person. But Kankuro doesn’t think that’s the case, and the kid’s started shaking again and is looking everywhere except at Kankuro and Kankuro again is reminded of _what could’ve happened –_

He approaches the boy slowly, making every movement clear, and settles down next to hm. The kid still won’t look at him, won’t look at anything – his eyes are shut tight and Kankuro wonders if maybe he should’ve taken the boy out of here, away from the bodies, before doing anything more.

“Here,” Kankuro says, holding out a small bag of jerky that he’s been carrying with him for some time. Because yes, he’s a vegetarian, and even though the thought makes his stomach turn he’s had this with him just in case he’s ever in desperate need of protein.

The boy opens his eyes slowly, landing on Kankuro’s offering. “Are you sure?” He asks.

Kankuro nods. “I’m vegetarian, remember?”

The boy twists his lips in what might be a smile, and takes the jerky, ripping a piece off and offering it to his dog, who chows it down before Kankuro can even blink.

“Thanks,” the boy says. Then, hesitant: “I don’t have anything –”

Kankuro shakes his head, cutting the boy off. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, before pushing himself to his feet. He offers his hand to the boy, who stares at it with wide eyes. “I’m Kankuro,” he says. It’s been so long since he’s talked to someone, since he’s even had someone to tell his name to.

The boy takes his hand, so, so slowly, and Kankuro revels in the feeling of just _touching_ another person. “Kiba,” the boy says, once Kankuro’s pulled him to his feet. They’re just about the same height.

“Where are you headed, Kiba?” Kankuro finds himself asking. He hasn’t let go of his hand.

Kiba shifts his weight. “Nowhere in particular,” he says guardedly. “You?”

“Arizona,” Kankuro says. “I’m going to find my brother and sister.”

Kiba bobs his head at that, and Akamaru scrabbles to his feet, tail wagging. Whatever wound Kankuro thought he’d seen must not be too detrimental to the pup, who nudges his nose at Kiba’s hand, probably looking for more beef jerky.

Kiba breaks contact to grab some more, and Kankuro can’t help but miss the feeling of skin-on-skin contact. He tosses a piece to Akamaru, who snaps it out of the air, before turning back to Kankuro.

He seems shy, eyes flitting downwards, resting on Kankuro’s mouth. “Need any company?” He asks, and Kankuro’s pulse jumps at the question.

“As long as you can keep up,” he answers nonchalantly.

Kiba smiles at him, and it’s refreshing, welcomed, like a drink of water after wandering aimlessly through the desert. Kankuro feels a sudden, fierce sense of urgency, a need to protect this boy. He wants to _know_ Kiba, to know who he was before the bombs, what he’s been up to since then, what he likes and dislikes, what he dreams about and fears and laughs at and cries about.

It’s strange, these feelings, almost too strong. Kankuro doesn’t know if it’s just because it’s been too long since he’s really spoken to someone, but there’s something about Kiba that intrigues Kankuro.

The way Kiba’s eyes linger on Kankuro makes him wonder if the other boy feels the same way. “I’ll try my best,” he promises, and Akamaru barks, as if in agreement.

Kankuro smiles, and it feels like hope.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! would love to hear your thoughts if you have any to share. i personally have 0 coherent thoughts at all times so no worries if not.
> 
> i appreciate you and hope you have an amazing day<3


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